


1/10th

by Jayne L (JayneL)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:04:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayneL/pseuds/Jayne%20L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a smart mouth. Abaddon makes him use it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1/10th

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't write this to be non-con, so I didn't check that warning box, but please proceed anticipating dub-con.

Dean has a smart mouth. Abaddon makes him use it.

He spits ugly words through those pretty lips, a concession in every hateful, desperate name he calls her. He licks her cunt--firm, flat strokes of his tongue, that mouth of his so hot and hungry and open as she rocks herself down on it.

He has strong hands. When he fights her, the hard ridges of his knuckles make her wish her skin could bloom bruises where they land; his grip on her throat as he shoves her back to the wall chokes off breath she doesn't need. When he's on his back for her--fucking himself into her as she rides, sweetly meeting her vicious pace--one of his hands clutches at her thigh, her hip, palms her breast and rubs roughly at her nipple with his thumb; the other tangles in her hair, fingers winding through smooth waves to tighten and tug.

He has eyes that betray him, every time. That never quite manage to glitter enough with righteous anger to hide his helpless fear, his craving, or his shame.

His cock hard and deep inside her, she moves on him in a slow, delicious fuck; leans down to press herself against him, to take a brutal kiss; tastes herself on his tongue, still, and bites at his bottom lip. Drags her mouth up to dig her teeth into the line of his cheekbone on the way to curl her tongue below his ear. She slides her hand down the straining cords of his neck and splays it on his chest, on his tattoo, where her long, pale fingers arch into red-tipped claws. She doesn't break his skin, or score it, or even press bruising marks into it; she rests her hand there, and feels his breath catch, and feels his heart pound. "I don't need to be inside you to make you mine, do I," she murmurs, and curves her smile against his ear as he comes.

**Author's Note:**

> Possession, of course, being the other nine-tenths.


End file.
